Trading Spaces a coda for The Real Ghostbusters
by sandymg
Summary: Sam and Dean in the Impala. Coda to The Real Ghostbusters 5x09


**Fanfic****: **Trading Spaces  
**Author: **sandymg  
**Summary: **Sam and Dean in the Impala. Coda to _The Real Ghostbusters_ 5x09  
**Spoilers****: **Set in Season 5. Assumes all canon through _The Real Ghostbusters  
_**Genre****: **Gen  
**Characters****: **Sam, Dean  
**Rating: **Some cursing  
**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and Eric Kripke -- who'd best treat them well

**Trading Spaces**

Dean felt … lighter. Maybe. It's not like he liked to think about these things. Feelings. They _were_. You dealt. Hopefully moved on. Usually sucked anyway. This time though, oddly enough it was sort of the opposite. Those bozos … he fought against blushing … partners, shit … at least they weren't fucking related! Nobody at that abominable event brought up any of the really skivvy stuff, thank goodness for that. He might have hurled. Demian and Barnes. They came through. Couldn't discount that.

People pretending to be them. Seriously could anything as fucked up as that happen to anyone else? Annoying when they wore their clothes. Maybe he should tell Sam to lay off on the plaid a bit? But the Larfing, Larping, whatever the fuck that was called. More like Barfing, he thought. That just was plain sick.

Beside him Sam was quiet. Yeah. News flash. Maybe it was best. After they'd driven away they'd discussed the Colt.

"Huh. Guess we missed it."

"Yep."

"Got a lead now. Finally."

"Think it'll pan?"

"Chuck's never been wrong."

Wasn't anything more to say anyway. They'd get the gun and maybe … somehow … put this nightmare to rest. He could still feel the weight of that gun when he'd pulled the trigger against that yellow eyed sonofabitch that took fucking everything from him. He missed that gun. It did one thing and did it well. He imagined it taking out another bastard. Then he imagined the bastard wearing his brother's face and his hands gripped the wheel so tight it cut off his circulation.

No. Wasn't going to happen. He swallowed the fear back. It went down his throat like acid. He glanced to his right. Sam was leaning slightly against the window. Eyes shut. Not asleep. He couldn't say exactly how he knew this, not like the ginormotron was moving or anything. Just that he always knew when Sam was sleeping.

Well that meant he could play some of his tunes. Might feel good. Clear his head. He was surprised suddenly that his music hadn't been blasting all over that creepazoid hotel. It was in the books just like every other fucking detail of his life. Nope. Couldn't go there again. Too likely to make him nuts and then who knows maybe he'd get in an accident and hurt baby. He touched the dash a second. Couldn't let that happen.

Baby. Didja see your sisters? Things of beauty. He fantasized a second about owning a fleet of shiny glorious cars with engines that made his heart purr. Like what's his name – Jay Leno – didn't he own like a hundred cars or some shit?

The road ribboned on ahead. Black and straight and familiar. Except now they had a lead to the Colt. So, unknown, too. Nothing new there. They never knew what the fuck would be around another bend. Another crazy to screw with them. Angels and Sirens and Shapeshifters – didn't matter the flavor, they all seemed to have the same goal. His heart constricted. Those guys really shouldn't have brought up that doctor – Ellicott. Sick, perverted bastard. Sam saying those things … wasn't him. Except it was and damn if those morons didn't … He couldn't do this. Dead things needed to stay buried or they wouldn't survive this.

He shoved his hand into the glove box and pulled out a cassette. Didn't matter which one. Would chase the voices out of his head and that's all that mattered.

At the loud blast Sam turned to him. "Was tryin' to sleep."

"Yeah well driver's rights."

He felt the bitchy look and smiled evilly. Wasn't exactly payback but it felt good. Hearing Sam reminded him of something.

"How'd your number one fan take us leaving so quick? Musta broke her heart."

"Becky?"

"Yeah. Chick wants you bro. Not so bad really, I mean she is kinda cute. Well, if you gagged her."

"She dumped me."

Dean sat up straighter and turned to Sam clearly stupefied. "What? No way, man."

Sam gave him a half grin, humor brightening his eyes even in the dim light. "She and Chuck have apparently discovered each other."

Dean's _what the fuck_ stare made Sam laugh outright.

"She choose Chuck over you? Dude, I … that's just too sad."

Sam was still grinning. "I'll have to find a way to get over it."

Felt good, hearing Sam laugh. Kid never laughed any more. Nobody did, it seemed. Missed it. Driving and laughing and being silly. Even Dad got silly once in a while. Back when it was the three of them. Back when he couldn't have imagined that ever changing.

He flicked the music off. Felt Sam turn and give him a questioning look.

"Thought you wanted to sleep?" he asked him.

"'S okay. You can leave it on." Sam was quiet again a moment. "Dean … those guys, they were all right. Came through."

"Yeah. They did. Saved our asses."

"Pretending to be us," Sam said with the same tone of wonder Dean had about the whole surreal thing.

"Stupid bastards," Dean said but his voice didn't mean either. "Imagine a series of books about brothers who save the world. Dumber plot never been invented."

Sam looked at him, silent words flowing between them as they hadn't in a long while. Felt real good. "Dumbest thing I ever heard."

Music blaring, the road beckoned. Black and straight and familiar.

_**fin**_


End file.
